


Eleven

by binz



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Dexter (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-25
Updated: 2007-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz/pseuds/binz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many copies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eleven

**Author's Note:**

> Written post-season one of _Dexter_ , mid-season three of _BSG_.

the impact of the bullet, unexpected, as it catches him in the back (missing his sternum and slipping in between the sixth and seventh rib before tearing a hole through his lung to shatter the fifth rib on exit) is second only to the surprise of seeing brian in the shadows, watching him as he dies. there is screaming, and running, and the grit and press of the sidewalk, and then --

\-- the next time he knows anything (time is deceptive. it is an instant and forever and the inhalation after that very last breath and the absence of the taste of blood and the muted shock warring with the flicker of contact in his dead brother’s eyes), he is drowning because he’s never breathed at all.

his body awakens; rears up and knows; floods with the first thought of a rising chest and curling toes and stretching fingers. his blood has never felt so loud and he is shaking.

“easy, easy,” says a voice that was the last thing he heard, breaking and screaming his name. “slow, steady breaths. that’s it. come on, you can do it.” he cranes his neck and finds deb. she has one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest, pushing him back down into the tub of gel he's lying in, slick and soft and rich with an undercurrent of copper and brine. “that’s right," she says. "good job.”

over deb’s shoulder, brian meets his eyes. “welcome back, little brother.”

“... what?” dexter says, and his voice tastes off, a first burst of unexpected static, and entirely his own. he wiggles and sits upright, rising into a room that is vast and high and dark. it is filled with glowing tubs just like his, a few scattered chairs, and the sound of footsteps. he knows there is a ceiling because he can feel it, but any sight is lost to the black and the blur.

all around him, five people are waiting and walking and focused. there is brian and deb, a woman with straight hair and a forward-facing jaw, a short man with brown hair and big eyes, and himself. over and over again.

deb-who-is-not-deb takes his hand, and brian-who-can’t-be-brian folds into the chair on his other side and smiles. “there are many copies,” he begins, and brushes a hand through dexter's drying hair.


End file.
